The Lies We Breathe
by Rune-Spirit
Summary: Following the sudden death of her father, Emma is made the legal ward of Sheriff Alex Romero. As he develops a fatherly concern for the girl, Dylan grows equally protective for entirely different reasons while helping her discover who may be responsible for the death of William Decody. Dylemma, DylanxEmma. Growing strong bond between Romero and Emma.
1. A Father's Departing

R_S: Sooo the very first thing I want to address is that I started this story before I read _Tasting the Stars_ by toomuchchampagne. It's a phenomenal story, which you should totally check out, and another DylanxEmma fic with the same basic premise. It's wonderful but goes in a very different direction than this one. I just felt very silly and unoriginal when I came across it, so I wanted to point out my ridiculousness right off the bat. And apologize for the ridiculous title; I couldn't come up with anything better.

Anyway, I have this story about half written. Given the intense rain that's keeping me in today, I decided what the hell- I'll post early. There's not enough of this couple, and they'd be freaking adorable (especially since I really don't like Bradley, who won't be making an appearance in this). Let me know if you have any thoughts or ideas or if you just wanna gush; I'd love to hear any of it!

So, without further ado, here's the admittedly short first chapter (most of the chapters are going to be on the shorter side, but this is the shortest thus far). I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**The Lies We Breathe**

**Chapter 1**

**A Father's Departing**

She hated the rain. It made the air thick and harder to breathe and move through, and it was _always. fucking. raining._ in that damn town. Fuck, Oregon sucked. She would have thought that after living in England they'd have gone somewhere with a little sun, but no. They stayed with the rain. Or maybe the rain just followed them, like a darkness coating their lives. It rained at Ms. Watson's funeral, and now it was raining at her father's.

Emma let out a shaky breath. Norma clutched her arms around Norman, who sobbed at the loss of the old man, but she stood stoic, without comfort despite her father's passing. A handful of those who respected him in town had shown up, along with some of her more polite classmates, but it was a much smaller affair than the last one she had attended. And yet again she faded into the background. In a way it was nice, a reverie away from the pitying looks and feelings like she did not belong. But on a deeper level, she wanted to scream. Her father had left her, the only man in the world who ever saw her. The one she had spent so long _wishing_ would see her easily ignored her anguish, instead wallowing in his own. For once, she was truly mad at the boy and not just hurt. Seriously, fuck him. Fuck Norman Bates. She once thought maybe he cared for her, but she was wrong. Not that it mattered; it was not as though she would ever see any of these people again anyway. Foster families were a great unknown, and somehow she did not think one would pop up in White Pine Bay.

A gentle, solid hand on her shoulder pulled the girl from her reverie. Emma looked over to see Dylan standing beside her, expression sympathetic. She had not realized he was there. She nodded but still did not cry, and he stared into her eyes for a long moment, as the holy man droned on in the background about love and ever after. He knew, she realized, he understood why she did not cry or kick or scream or pitch a fit. She did not want the spotlight; she just wanted to be _seen_. That would not achieve what she wanted. And anyway, she had not the breath for it.

She was invited forward to toss some dirt on her father's casket, and the dysfunctional family of three moved along with her, by her side. Annoyed though she was, she was glad for the support. Still, when Norman reached for her hand, she pretended not to notice. Rarely had she needed him, and now that she did, she found him emotionally out of reach. It was jarring and heartbreaking, and she felt guilty for thinking about a boy when her father's soul still had yet to be fully laid to rest. The funeral ended soon after, and the small group began to disperse, some leaving some parting condolences with the young brunette. She smiled and nodded along like a good little girl. Dylan stood keeping watch over her like a guard dog. She felt safe and ignored the way Norma stepped in to intercept the sheriff as he approached her to usher her back home.

As her sons and Emma turned away to bid farewell to funeral goers, Norma fixed Romero with fire in her sparkly blue eyes.

"Alex, what's this I'm hearing that Emma doesn't know where she's going now?" She demanded, "Where was the rest of her family today? I'd really like to know where she's off to." Romero sighed, already exhausted from how she started the conversation.

"I don't know the answer to that. No one's claiming her, so there's nowhere for her to go. She's being put in the system, so it's whoever can take in a sick kid."

The blond woman glared, "There's more to her than being sick, and she may be young, but I think you'll find she has an old soul. Claiming her, what the hell kind of term is that… she's not a pet. And what do you mean no family? Surely there's _someone_. Hell, I'll take her in if I have to." He disregarded most of her little rant.

"There's no getting in touch with her mother, Will doesn't have any family left back in England… There's nowhere else for her to go, Norma, and after everything that's happened since you moved here, they won't deem you an acceptable role model."

The blond woman shook her head, "No… no, I can't accept that. There must be _something_ I can-"

"Look, Norma, with your family's history, the various run-ins with the law… No court's gonna let her stay with you, not as legal guardian. I'm sorry, it's over."

"No, it's not! Someone has to care for that poor, sweet girl- she'll _die_ on her own, Alex."

"She won't be on her own. I'm sure they'll find a foster family-"

"They can't provide the love she needs, not like we can!"

Romero sighed and ran a hand over his head, already exhausted by the conversation and Norma's fervency. "Let me… let me see what I can do, look into any other options. But honestly, I don't know what good it's going to do. In the meantime, I've got to get her back."

"Give her a minute… her father was just buried." For a moment, it looked like he might argue, but the man sighed and acquiesced, taking pity like all others on the sick, sad little girl. Norman walked over to them with a sort of polite sadness, in search of his mother's comfort, and left Dylan and Emma just out of earshot.

"Hey." Dylan said to her simply, looking down at the grave. Emma kept her eyes trained on the freshly turned soil.

"Hi. Thank you for coming… I hadn't realized anyone but your mom and brother would be here." That was true. Not many people knew the Decodys; they mostly kept to themselves. It was surprising the community would come out for him, but then again, maybe it was just in good taste to support a dying orphan. Still, it was especially nice to see him. After Norman confided in her the secret of Dylan's parentage, the two had created a gentle bond. They forged a deeper friendship, one where she felt close to him like she once had with Norman and Norma, before the secrets started. But she was not sure if he felt likewise until that day.

"It's no problem." He assured her, uncertain how to respond to her despondent words of appreciation. "How ya holdin' up?"

She shrugged, "About as well as can be expected, I guess."

"That's still pretty shitty." He pointed out. She let out a short, bitter sound that tried to be a laugh.

"Yeah, I guess it is." A silence fell between them, heavy but companionable. Her eyes flicked to the side of his face for a millisecond before she spoke. "Look, Dylan, I know I have no right to ask any favor of you, but…"

"You wanna know if this was random or drug related." He stated simply, finishing the sentence when she seemed unable to do so. Her eyes watered. She turned to face him.

"Do you know?"

"I have no idea, Emma. Honestly, I don't know how it could be, unless he was laundering or transporting… does it really matter?"

"I can't live my whole life wondering if he was involved with… that." The blond boy met her stare evenly.

"Are you sure the answer is something you can handle, even if it's one you don't like?"

"I _need_ to know, Dylan. Please."

He ran a hand over his hair. "Shit, why do you girls always come to _me_ for answers?" he asked rhetorically and bit his lip, as though he regretted her hearing him. Emma leaned back and regarded him with a cool curiosity. She spoke as if trying to prove she was just as important and mature as he was.

"I know Bradley asked you about her dad. I know Norman was super jealous, because she looked at you like you could save her." That earned a childish glare back.

"And I know you were super jealous of Bradley, because she got to screw Norman and all you were left with was holding hands." The flash of hurt across her face brought an instant pang of regret deep within his stomach, and he quickly moved on. "Look, I'll see what I can find out, but I can't make any promises."

She nodded, "I understand. I just really appreciate this."

"And this… this has to stay between you and me, got it?"

"Yes," she agreed quickly, "absolutely."

"I'm serious, Emma. Things are tense enough. Not even my family-"

"I won't tell a soul, Dylan." Emma said seriously, eyes searching his, "Promise."

"Alright, yeah, yeah… gimme your number, I'll call if I hear anything." He reached into his pocket, but her voice stopped him.

"You already have it." At his disturbed look, she elaborated. "I put it in and called myself when I found you passed out in your truck all vomit-y. Figured maybe next time you were drunk you'd see it and call me instead of getting yourself kille-…" She stopped herself short, gaze dropping once more. He nodded to her.

"Well thanks. Nice of you to look out for me." She looked back up at him.

"We're friends, aren't we Dylan?" She asked.

He nodded, "Yeah, Em. We're friends." And Sheriff Romero stepped in to spirit her away, as his mother and brother hovered around him sadly.

**End of Chapter**

* * *

R_S: So that's it, just a quick set-up of their current relationship. Please leave a review to let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, what you hope to see... any thoughts you'd like to leave are welcome. Thanks!


	2. Legal Guardian

R_S: Hello! Super thanks to my awesome first reviewer **minstorai**, to whom this chapter is dedicated =)

* * *

**The Lies We Breathe**

**Chapter 2**

**Legal Guardian**

During the drive up to the Bates Motel, Sheriff Alex Romero almost turned his car around no less than 4 times.

"This," he grumbled aloud to himself again, "is a really stupid idea." And once he told Norma, there was probably no getting out of it. Telling her was as good as agreeing, and there were still about a thousand kinks that needed to be adjusted for the stupid plan to work. Still, he figured, his karma could probably use the boost. He managed the big crimes, but he'd be remiss if he did not admit to being just a bit crooked regarding some of the dealings in town. Maybe offering a hand to a dying teenager was what he needed to shift the universe back in his favor.

That was the thought that got him into the parking lot and out of his car. He walked with feigned confidence up to the office, but she was not there. Norman sat within looking deep in thought, and the boy's eyes narrowed at his approach, despite the polite tone.

"Hello, sheriff. Is there a problem with the room?"

"No, everything's fine, thanks; just looking for your mom. She around?" He glanced casually past the boy into the backroom, but it appeared empty. Norman shook his head.

"She's up at the house. Everything going on with Emma is hitting her pretty hard."

Romero nodded, "Of course, I understand… are you holding up alright, Norman?" The boys shrugged, shifting through his papers.

"Yeah, I'm alright I guess. I miss her is all. I try to go visit sometimes, but since she doesn't come here anymore and I need to cover her hours, it feels like I never get to see her." The man offered what he hoped was a comforting smile.

"Well don't worry, son. I have a feeling things are gonna get better real soon, don't you worry."

That earned a soft smile, "Thanks. But I think you'd better tell my mom that; she needs to hear it more than me."

"I'll go check on her; it's what I wanted to talk to her about anyway." With the boy's polite confirmation, he exited the office and began the tough trek up the house stairs (honestly, he wondered how that sick kid managed). Sometimes even he felt winded by the time he reached the top, and usually he opted to drive. Maybe that was her secret- she drove up instead. He made a mental note to ask, since it seemed like he would soon need to know.

Stepping up to the front door, he knocked firmly. There was a long moment before the woman appeared, peering at him through the design on the glass. She opened the door immediately and allowed him into the foyer.

"Hello, Alex. What brings you up?" She tried to be peppy, but her voice was tired and worn. She was taking everything with Emma much harder than he anticipated. Either that or she was hiding something from him again. That was another flaw in this plan- the ability to soundly trust Norma Bates. She meant well, sure, but she had a bad habit of making stupid decisions that got everyone she cared about involved. And that was how people got hurt. He could not, in good conscience, bring a young girl into all of that without ensuring she knew the gravity of this responsibility.

"I need to talk to you about something," he told her seriously, "is there someplace we can sit."

"Is it about the thing with Norman?" she asked seriously, "Because he passed that test, you saw it yourself. He's a good, sweet boy, and-"

"No, no Norma, please. It has nothing to do with Norman. Let's just have a seat." He gestured with one hand to the living room, and she nodded reticently, following the instruction. As he sat on one seat, she immediately began pouring herself a drink. She lifted a glass in offering, but he shook his head with a polite decline; he was still technically on the clock. Glass in hand, she sat herself delicately across from him.

"So, we're sitting. If it's not Norman, then what's the issue?"

He licked his lips, choosing his words carefully. "Norma… we're friends. We've been through a lot, and there's an inherent trust between you and me. So I need to know, point blank, before this conversation goes any further, if there are any more secrets I need to know; anything at all that _you_ know about that might not be above grade." Her expression was clearly annoyed, but she met his gaze evenly.

"No, there's nothing. Alex, given all that happened with Ford… If there was anything else, I'd tell you- you know that. And frankly, I don't appreciate the suspicion." He studied her face for a long moment, examining it for any trace of deceit. She was tough to read, as always, and he found none.

"Alright… I think I've found you a loophole, something that will allow you to take care of the girl."

"Oh yeah," she snorted into her glass of scotch, clearly not buying it, "what's that?"

"Me." She only raised a brow in response, prompting him to continue. "The way I see it, the kid's around 17, so she's out of the system soon anyway. And hell, she can't exactly move in with me when there's no house to move into, but I can still stand as her legal guardian. You've got a place to keep her but no power to gain guardianship, I can get guardianship but don't want to keep her…" he trailed off, letting the woman put the pieces together. Slowly, her face bloomed into a radiant smile.

"Oh Alex," she rushed forward to capture him in a grateful hug, "this is wonderful! _Thank you_. You don't understand how much this means for my family, for _Emma_. She's such a sweet and wonderful girl; she needs someone who can nurture that and make sure she's well taken care of. I can do that, you _know_ I can."

"Yeah, I know Norma… Wouldn't have put the kid in your care if I didn't think it's where she'd be happiest and well taken care of- if she's alright with all this. I can schedule a court meeting once I get the ok."

"Oh don't put it off," she implored, "try to get one for tomorrow morning- the earlier the better."

"Now wait a minute, we don't even know if she's on board with this yet-"

"She wants to stay with us; she loves this family, being with us. She'll want to move in as soon as possible. Oh, I need to ready a room that's easy for her to get to, can't have her lumbering all the way up to Dylan's old room with her condition…" Instantly Norma began to fret.

"Norma, now wait a minute- let's not get ahead of ourselves-"

"Fine," she cut him off, "so go tell Emma the plan. I know she's going to like it. And in the meantime, help me figure out if it's a better idea to put in a temporary divider for the den or make her a place in the basement. It's a bit muggy but the stairs aren't so bad, and she'll get more privacy. Anyway, it'll force Norman to stop spending so much time down there… Oh, but what if there's an emergency or I need to check in on her? So much to think about!" She squealed, hugging him again before ushering him toward the door.

"Norma," he resisted the urge to laugh at her enthusiasm, which was contagious, "I think you're getting a little too excited about all this-"

"Just _go_, Alex. And let me know whatever else I need to do to get this all started."

As she shut the door behind him, he could make out a legitimate squeal of excitement. At that, he did chuckle. Shaking his head, he jogged down the length of steps to his squad car. Hell, he figured, at least he was bringing the girl somewhere she would be loved.

* * *

During the drive to the old Decody place, reality began to set in. This was a huge commitment he was possibly taking on; he was about to put his name out on the line. And hell, he was (in essence) going to be in charge of a little girl- ok, maybe not so little, but a teenager. That was worse, in a way. It was more stressful, and bad for his image. Who was going to be afraid of a guy who took in a teen? On that note, what if they went after her? She could be a weakness.

He shook it off, trying to psych himself up. This was a _good_ thing. He had not done something generous that did not relate to his job in a very long time. He had a reputation as a hard-ass, he knew that, and who was to say that softening his image a touch was a bad thing? Yeah, he could take care of the kid _and_ bust some ass. That could be intimidating. And honestly, who knew where she would end up if he didn't take her? That town was royally effed, and the system was known to be flawed. What if he did not take her in and she died in some crack house or at the hands of some molester or something? She was sick, helpless. And really, if he felt the need to chicken out, he could always blame red tape.

Romero gripped the wheel tightly as he pulled up. There was not telling if he would be able to take her in anyway; a lot of variables stood in his way. He was not qualified to care for her, having no background in her disease, and he did not have a home; there was no telling if they would allow him to stand in as legal guardian while housing her elsewhere anyway. He thought he had a good shot, but there was no guarantee. He had meant to stress that point to Norma, but her excitement had just been so elating and contagious. With the girl, he would have to be firmer… then again, people rarely said no to Alex Romero _or_ Norma Bates.

That thought allowed him to steal himself as he knocked firmly on the front door and unlocked it. "Ms. Decody?" He called politely, stepping in. Normally orphaned children were placed in a temporary home until a family member or social worker could collect them, but given this girl's age and… delicate circumstances, she was allowed to stay in her home. A nurse checked on her twice a day, as well as random check-ins by officers, and any travel from the house had to be approved and chaperoned by an official. Honestly, the girl was proving to be a pain in his ass. Romero just hoped that this would put an end to his juggling. Yes it would result in paperwork for him, but he knew Norma was going to come storming down to the station, huffing and puffing with guns blazing, if it went any other way. She would fight tooth and nail to have this girl, so it was actually going to save him a hell of a lot of damn trouble.

"Ms. Decody." He repeated, this time with more force in his voice. He heard her soft, breathy tone from the other room.

"Just a minute, sir." It sounded labored, like she was short of breathe, and though she told him to wait a minute, he strode forward to check on her. He entered just as she yanked down a shirt over her lower back, the cannula from her tank lying on the bed she stood beside. She grabbed it quickly as she turned to his embarrassed form, slipping it into place. Despite the invasion of her privacy, she offered him a weak smile. He looked anywhere but her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, you just sounded short of breathe and I wanted to make sure-"

"It's fine, Sheriff Romero. My dad used to do it all the time. He was always worrying." Her voice caught at the mention of her father, and for once he felt like he was really doing something to help.

"Well I'm sorry anyway. I came to check up on you and discuss the issue of your guardianship." He gestured for her to sit down, and she did so, optimistic expression doing little to conceal her wariness.

"I know you probably don't want to uproot your whole life to go live with strangers, and Norma Bates and I have been looking into finding a way you wouldn't have to." The way her face brightened up was astounding, like a light had been turned on in the room, and it coaxed the smallest hint of a smile from the usually stoic man. Even heartbroken, there was a sunniness about the girl.

"Do you have any ideas?" she asked eagerly, and he nodded.

"It's a little bit complicated, but I think it'll suit your needs just fine. Hear me out before you say anything. And remember that there's no guarantee this'll work, but we're hopeful. Now, on paper, I'm going to be taking over legal guardianship for you, which would normally mean you would have to live with me. But, as you know, I've been staying at the motel due to the… unfortunate incident with my house. So, technically I'm staying on the Bates property, which means _you're_ staying on the Bates property. And the house is much better suited to your medical needs than a motel room. You wouldn't have to have anything to do with me except the occasional check in with social services, and obviously I'll be checking up on you, not just dropping you off on your own. Once your 18, you can figure out where to go from there, but until then, you'll be living with the Bates's- that is," he cut himself off, searching her face for cues, "if this idea meets your approval. And the state's, of course." For a long moment, her face was flat as she digested. Then, ever so slowly, it broke into a wide, sunny grin. She squealed- an actual, real life squeal that Alex Romero would never have thought would be directed at him.

"Are you kidding me?! That's _amazing_! Thank you so, _so_ much!" She had begun to cry, "This is such good news, I mean I just… thank you."

He coughed and shifted in slight discomfort, "It's, uh, really no problem. And again, there's a lot that could go wrong, so I don't wanna get your hopes up. I just figured we best run it by you before we tried." Her smile softened, and she wiped away her happy tears.

"You mean if they don't want to let you take me in when you're homeless?"

"I don't think that'll be an issue; my reputation in this town is solid enough that I think they'll trust me. But stuff goes wrong with these kinds of things all the time… I just can't promise it'll all work out.

"If it doesn't, that's ok too. A lot of the time things don't go how I'd hoped. But I really appreciate you trying, Sheriff Romero. It means a lot." At her pessimistic words, Romero softened and realized that, if there was any chance of the state letting him pull this, he could not back out of it. She needed this, someone to put faith in her.

"Yeah, don't mention it kid. Why don't you get some rest; your nurse come today?"

She shook her head, "No, she'll be here soon… I thought it was her when you came in."

"Alright, well I better get out of your way then." She moved to stand, but he put a hand up to stop her, "I can let myself out. I'll let you know anything about court hearings and paperwork, so you'll hear from me soon."

"Ok… thank you again, Sheriff Romero. Really."

He did not respond, simply offered her a smile and left.

**End of Chapter**

* * *

R_S: Obviously not the most realistic turn of events, but screw it- Bates Motel isn't the most realistic show anyway. Please leave a review with your thoughts! Thanks =)


	3. Breathing Fire

R_S: So here's chapter 3, finally some more DylanxEmma moments- yay =)

* * *

**The Lies We Breathe**

**Chapter 3**

**Breathing Fire**

Dylan pulled up to the tiny shop, its exterior still neat and giving no indication of its proprietor's untimely death. 'Artful Artifacts' the sign read. He nearly snorted. The name, the yellow paint accented with ivy, the quaint white picket fence… it was such a homey feel, a stark contrast to the Bates manor. He wondered how Emma would adjust to the change.

Pondering the differences as he slipped out of the cab of his truck, Dylan looked up at the sky. It was muggy and dark, but it did not seem like it would rain. He lit up a Marlboro and counted his blessings. He did not mind doing a sick orphan girl, his friend, a favor, but doing it in the rain would really blow. As he took the first pull of nicotine, the door flung open to reveal the girl in question, Emma. He finished off his cigarette, stomping it out as she waited from a safe distance, and shot her an apologetic look. He had meant to get his fix in before she noticed he had arrived. Hopefully the smoke residue would not irritate her lungs. If it did, she never complained. Nor did she ever lecture him on the blatant thanklessness and disrespect he showed by flaunting his healthy lungs and attacking them with carcinogens right in front of one not so lucky. He was a dick, Dylan thought, but hey- knowing was half the battle.

"Sorry," she said, puttering out to him with care to avoid puddles, "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just saw you pull up and came out… I should've waited."

"Nah, I was wasting time anyway." He leaned against the truck with his usual devil-may-care attitude. "So Sheriff Romero's gonna be your new dad, huh?" She shifted her feet awkwardly.

"That's not exactly funny, Dyl."

"Right, sorry…" he coughed.

"As of right now, it's only temporary anyway," she continued, "just until the court can find what they deem a suitable replacement. But I don't think anyone's in a hurry to take me." She made it sound like a joke, but he was not sure how to respond. Instead, he breezed over it.

"So, uh, Norma sent me. I'm supposed to pack up your things."

"Oh, no you don't have to-" He pushed off from where he was leaning.

"I'm under strict orders not to let you lift _anything_. And I gotta tell you, for once I agree with her. You're already under a lot of stress; can't be good for your condition. I think Romero's gonna come by to help in a bit, so if anything's too personal, I suggest we tuck it away now."

She shot him a rebellious look, "And what makes you think that I'd let you see any of my private things?" He sent her his most roguishly charming smile.

"Emma… please. Be real." And she laughed. It was her first real, true laugh in a long time, since her father's death, and it made him smile. He followed her through the yard up to the front door. Greenery was everywhere, some wild and some potted. It was littered with crap ('antiques,' he thinks her father must have called them), there was even a fountain filled with fallen leaves in lieu of water. He wondered how her father made any income at all. Still, despite the weirdness of the exterior, it screamed happy family. There was even a cute little name plaque in script beside the door.

The inside was very… British, Dylan decided was the word. The house was small and cozy, like an English cottage. Right in the entry, there was a coat rack flanked by an antique looking bronze sconce and what must have been an old charcoal painting of a dog. The kitchen was tidy, with kettles and boxes of teas sitting beside the breadbox. It was nothing like the messy, over-stocked American kitchens he was used to. It was easy to forget Emma had moved to White Pine Bay from outside the country, even if it was when she was very young. He made a mental note to ask her if she could put on a convincing accent next time he needed to cheer her up. He bet she could and that it would make her smile.

There was an old ratty curtain hanging at one wall. Dylan reached for it, but her voice stopped him.

"I wouldn't," she said with a sad smile, "that was my dad's workshop. It's just some taxidermy stuff, but it tends to weird people out, especially the nurses. But I guess you're used to all that, with Norman. That'll be nice, I think; like having him around."

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way," He told her as she led him in the opposite direction to her tiny room, where in true Emma fashion she had already packed most of her things into neatly labelled boxes, "since you'll be living right next to _his_ workshop."

"What do you mean?" She asked, blinking big doe eyes as she picked up a box with one arm. He moved to stop her, but noticing it was just pillows, he decided to allow it. He surveyed what was around and available to move, thinking about how to best load it as he answered.

"We cleaned up one side of the basement for you, moved an old bed down there and some other odds and ends. I finished it up a bit to make it more livable; somehow roaches and rats don't seem like your idea of a good roommate."

"No, I suppose not. But that still sounds really nice."

"It's not anything elegant," he warned, "just a quick insulation job. But it was enough to convince Norma it's a good place for you. She wanted to put up a curtain for the den so she could check in on you." He snorted at the horrified look Emma tried to hide, "You're welcome."

"… Thank you, Dylan."

He grunted with effort as he lifted one of her boxes of books, "I already said you're welcome." He answered in halting pants as they made their way out. She shook her head.

"No, I mean for everything. You've been so good to me through all this. Everyone's either avoiding me or coddling me or just… you're the only one who treats me like a person. Like sorry life sucks, but you'll eventually learn to deal with it. It's oddly comforting. I thought Norman would get it, that he would be someone I could turn to. But he's being-"

"He's been preoccupied." Dylan cut her off, dropping the box by the front door, "Don't take it personally. And don't mention it, kid. Really."

She raised an eyebrow, "Kid? You're like what, 3 maybe 4 years older than me?" He shot her a grin.

"And don't you forget it, brat."

* * *

The rest of the day unfolded similarly. Romero showed up shortly thereafter, and Dylan and he packed up the truck with Emma's belongings. After they reached the manor, Romero and Norman helped carry the boxes from the car to the external door of the basement, but once that was finished, both made themselves scarce after meager offers to help unpack. Emma sent them away kindly, already feeling guilty for the level of imposition. She tried to get Dylan to do the same, but he shrugged her off. It was obvious to her they needed to talk in private.

"Well that went faster than I expected," he commented, leaning against the wall to survey the space that now counted as her room, "especially given how much crap you have."

"I'm a _girl_, Dylan. We come with clothes and shoes and all kinds of useless junk." She smiled, unpacking some odds and ends into an old desk they had found. Silence followed, and he figured he might as well just dive right in.

"So… how much did they tell you about your dad?" He asked. She shrugged.

"Not much, barely anything. I think the only reason Bradley knew so much is she found him, otherwise they try to keep you in the dark. It happened in his car is all I know, and there was fire… that's why I was wondering…" she licked her lips, "It's really similar, y'know?"

"You sure you wanna know how it happened?"

"I need to." She stared at him for a long moment, and he looked back deeply into her honey sweet eyes, judging if she was ready for the truth.

"His car blew up." He said suddenly and simply, without preamble. Emma's hand flew to her mouth, eyes watering.

"B-but how-"

"The oxygen tanks. It happened when he was picking up a carload."

"Oh god… oh god, Dylan, it's all my fault. I killed him." Emma sunk to the floor, heartbroken, her gaze far away. Dylan dropped down to his knees in front of her immediately, calling her name to keep her attention. He cupped her face and tilted it up so he could look into her eyes seriously.

"Emma no, this is _not_ your fault. He wasn't getting the tanks from the hospital or anything, he was picking them up by the docks. It was something that wasn't above level. And those tanks don't just blow for no reason, something's gotta spark it. No one knows what yet, but I'm gonna find out. But Emma, this wasn't your fault."

"So… so someone used those tanks to kill him?"

"I don't know that… I just know something sparked it. Maybe it was an accident, maybe it wasn't. But I'll be looking into it and watching out for you."

She nodded slowly. "Ok." She said, carefully lifting herself to sit on the edge of her new bed. Norma had already fitted it with soft clean sheets, and the men had unloaded her medical and placed it nearby, Dylan plugging it all in strategically on scattered circuits. He watched her thoughtfully.

"Are you scared?" He asked finally.

"Dylan," she said to him simply, with a resignation that broke his heart, "I'm afraid every day of my life. But I'm also dying. My time is up in ten years, give or take… I figure there's no use in fearing death when its inevitability is staring you in the face."

"I guess… but you don't have anything to be scared of. We're all looking out for you, I promise."

"Thank you. I just wish I'd been looking out for him."

"He was a grown man, Emma. Whatever happened, I'm sure he knew what he was doing."

"Yeah, I mean… I thought I'd be used to pain by now, but nothing I've ever experienced hurts like this, not all the physical pain in the world. There's a thousand things I wish I could have said to him, Dylan, and now I'll never get the chance. And god, I was so mean to him."

He sent her a soft smile, "It's hard to imagine you ever being mean. Even when you yelled at me, you just seemed upset."

"I can be, believe me. My dad and I were fighting right before he died… he wanted me to have a future. He was always talking about college and what I could do with my life. But I was like what life… I only have another ten years or so, so what's the point? It just seemed like a good way to waste my dad's money and put him in even more debt for when I die. Medical bills are expensive enough."

"So if you aren't going to go to college, what are you going to do?" He asked, sitting beside her.

She shrugged, "Well, I was planning on hanging around here, really. Just living at home and working somewhere local until I couldn't anymore. Seemed simpler that way."

"And now?"

"Now… I dunno. Finish school, move into a cheap apartment and stick to the plan, I guess." Tears began slipping down her cheeks, "My dad would be so disappointed in me, Dylan. It feels like I'm disrespecting his memory, especially after how things ended… He left to get all that for me, and I didn't even tell him I loved him."

He hushed her, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his chest, "He knew you did. He loved you too, warned Norman to be good to you once." He felt her giggle more than he heard it.

"Really?"

"Really. And I'm pretty sure you'll be able to stay here as long as you need- Norman told us about how you offered to let him stay with you when Norma was picked up for Keith Summers' death. But you have to realize that it's not going to be the same here as it was for you back home."

"I know," she agreed, pulling away, "but I think I'll still like it, even if it's different."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Different's good, I think. I can't just play pretend and try to go back to the way things work like it never happened. Plus, I feel safe here, Dylan. I always feel safe with Norman and your mother… with you."

"Just be smart." He told her cryptically, and left her to finish on that note.

**End of Chapter**

* * *

R_S: So obviously they're starting out a little more friendly than anything else; didn't seem reasonable to just jump right in with crush/love/whatever. Let me know what you all think!


	4. Community

R_S: Sorry for the delay in updates- things have been hectic. But on the upside, this is where the story is going to start to pick up a bit, so yaaay haha. Mostly DylanxEmma this chapter, so that should make you happy.

* * *

**The Lies We Breathe**

**Chapter 4**

**Community**

Life with the Bates was easy, Emma found, and Norma loved having her there. It was nice having another woman around, she would say. And Dylan stayed around more, obviously concerned about Norman's blackouts and Emma's safety. He felt like allowing her to move in with them was tantamount to dropping her in a lion's den or a snake pit- all danger with no protection. He had all but permanently moved into his old room, staying there multiple nights a week for the first month of Emma's time, until finally his mother strong-armed him into coming back. It was temporary, he would often say, just until he got back on his feet- as though he needed to be any more successful.

He would be lying if he said he did not enjoy having Emma around. It made living with his family much more palatable and much less frustrating. Norma(n) were so nosy about her business they had no time for his, and he found he greatly preferred running interference for her than for himself. And she clearly appreciated it- one could only take Norma's attempts to girl-talk and throw her younger son at you before it became maddening. Living with someone had a way of changing your perception, and spending nearly every moment with Norman, from meals to school to homework to work to simple relaxation, had caused what little embers of her crush that had remained to cool. She realized that maybe she did not want to spend the rest of her short life taking care of the boy and babying him as Norma did and he had come to expect. There was a time when it would have been wholly welcome, a time not that long ago. Before Gunner, even a bit after, it would have been a dream. But the shift in her attitude was noticeable, if you knew where to look for it. She still kissed Norman on occasion, but they were friendlier now, chaster. Dylan wondered if the boy noticed the difference, being less well versed in the admittedly fickle whims of women.

Then again, everything about Emma seemed chaste (though rarely fickle). Her sweet smiles, the sparkle in her eye… he could not imagine her being involved in half of the craziness that plagued their town. He thought about her open smiles, the way she blushed when he came out of the bathroom shirtless- all pink embarrassment. It was an ego boost, and he always made sure to send her his most charming smirk. He did, after all, have a way with the ladies, he often liked to claim. But Emma was not most girls.

On his nights off, he found himself spending less time at the bar and more time at home. Nearly every night she did some kind of 'family activity' with his mother and brother, but on the nights Dylan was around, she could easily extricate herself by claiming to need rest. They would sit in the basement and he would teach her to play cards, or sometimes they would swap stories between laughter and whispered secrets. Other times she confided in him, things overheard at school she did not feel she could burden Norman with. Young girls were cruel, he assured her, but life got better. At first she tried to broach the topic of his parentage, but it was made clear that was not up for discussion. Rarely did his 'business ventures,' as Emma liked to jokingly call them, come up, but on occasion they related to the topic at hand.

"So I gotta know," he asked suddenly one night, scrutinizing her thoughtfully, "what changed?"

She cocked her head, "What do you mean?"

"Between you and Norman, what changed? Last I heard, Norma was all excited cuz you were asking about sex and maybe finally about to sleep with him- which is a really weird reason for her to be excited, by the way, so I try not to think about it… now it's like he's your brother." he took a pull from his beer. He did not think Emma's cheeks could get any redder. She was curled up on her bed, as he sat across in an old desk chair, and she began playing with the corner of her comforter.

"She told you about that?" That had been in confidence, woman to woman. Then again, there were plenty of times Emma broke Norman's confidence to his mother, so maybe it was a quid-pro-quo type of thing.

"Yeah, apparently none of us are so good at keeping secrets, princess. So what was it, my kid brother no good in the sack?" It had been a question itching at the back of his brain for quite some time, and he could not withhold his curiosity any longer. Maybe it was investment in his brother getting laid, maybe it was concern knowing his brother was fairly experienced and she clearly was not, but whatever the reason, he felt inclined to discuss the matter with her.

"Dylan… Norman and I never slept together. There was never anything there at all. I liked him, but he has always been all about Bradley. And Cody, I guess, maybe for a little while… but I think that was maybe just to deal with _her_ being gone, a way to comfort himself after she died." He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

"So just… wishful thinking on your part?" He pressed casually but this time did not meet her eye, and she shook her head again.

"No. There was someone else." That caught his attention, and his head popped up.

"Seriously? Must be a well-kept secret; that's rare. Who's the lucky guy?"

She shrugged and continued to play with her comforter, "It doesn't matter; he's out of the picture." A serious frown pulled at his features.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened; he's just not here anymore. I dunno where he went, and it's not like I have his number or anything."

"Oh… so you didn't sleep with him then?" The long pause that followed his question told him all he needed to know, but her answer bothered him nonetheless.

"No, I did. It doesn't matter, Dylan. It was over the summer, that's like forever ago. I just wanted to have a good first time before I died, in case I didn't get another chance, and I did." If anything, he looked angrier at that.

"So what he just took your virginity and skipped town, no forwarding address? Wait," he straightened suddenly, "he wasn't one of my guys, was he? One of the pothead losers I put up here for a while… you knew they weren't good enough for you, right?"

Somehow that made her defensive. "Gunner wasn't so bad. He was nice and really sweet to me."

"Except for the whole hump and dump thing." He deadpanned, and she gave him a wry grin.

"Yeah, except for that."

"Gunner…" he tested the name out on his tongue and looked over at her. "I'm not hiring him again." Emma insisted that was unnecessary, that she did not want to be the cause of someone else's misfortune. But on a deeper level, she was touched. He always looked out for her, now even when it came to his business he had put her first, albeit in a small way. She was starting to notice how close she had gotten with him and how keeping things to herself felt wrong.

The next night, she broke down and told him the whole story- Gunner, the cupcake, Cody, the lake. She should have expected the stern lecture about her well-being that followed, though maybe not the calloused hand cradling her cheek. Lectures from Romero and Norma and Norman seemed to circulate in her daily life; she had just never gotten one from Dylan before. It felt weird, the sternness of his words in stark juxtaposition to the careful way he touched her. He seemed as uncomfortable with it as she was, so it never happened again. They fell back into their usual routines for morning, noon, and night.

Breakfast was always fun. Sometimes Emma cooked, and when she did, she liked to tease him. She would slip him eggs and bacon in the shape of a happy face or fun-shaped pancakes- whatever she thought would make him laugh. Norma, in all her obliviousness, thought this was all for the benefit of Norman and her little puppy-love, but it was easy to see the smiles she sent him were friendly. There was no room for puppy love in Emma's life those days. The death of a parent had a way of making you grow up, and gone were the blushes and batted eye-lashes that once made up her character. She was calmer, somehow more in touch with the old soul she always possessed. She had aged in a very short amount of time.

It was most obvious in how Romero did not mind her. He often came up for meals since Emma joined the family, wanting to check in as her legal guardian. She was sweet and smart, he would often say, had a good head on her shoulders. He had no time for dramatic little girls and was pleasantly surprised to find that dealing with Emma Decody was nothing like handling Bradley Martin. Norma had once told him that she imagined having a daughter to be like having Emma, and he could see why. When he came by the house, he was rarely subjected to giggling or tantrums or crying of any sort. She teased the brothers, but she was refined in her manner and desperate to help and please. It was sad but acceptable, the fantasy of the perfect daughter when one imagined it- aside from the illness, of course. Her only deep shortcoming seemed to be her own insecurities and dependency; she needed to branch out and assert herself.

Usually, that was the most thought he gave the girl, considering her not really his problem. However, that evening found him wondering a great deal more as they walked with the social worker assigned to her case. The woman was practically buzzing with excitement as she promised them a 'very special surprise,' after they breezed through the interview in one of the station's interrogation rooms. Two of his officers blindfolded them and put them in the backseat of a cruiser, and he had half a mind to tell them to screw off. Instead, he kept it together, if only because the Decody girl seemed so very nervous. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before the blindfolds were tied. She might just be some random kid, but she was still his to protect. He made sure she knew he was not far for the entire car ride and listened for the sound of air rushing through the cannula. When the car finally stopped as it reached their destination, they were led from the seats gently and stood beside each other. It was easy to hear the other people around whispering in excitement. Emma moved closer to him and bumped his hand with her own but did not grasp it. She just needed the proximity, he thought. And then the blindfolds were removed, and as his eyes adjusted to the reintroduction of light, his mouth fell open. He did not expect what stood before him.

"Surprise!"

Romero stared utterly gob smacked at the structure, nearly identical to his old home but neater and more modern. "W-what… what is this?"

"Do you like it?" Christine Heldens stepped forward, hands clasped. "The community pitched in to get it all done early for you- quite the challenge to keep secret! But we wanted someone who gave back so _generously_ to have a home for himself… and his new daughter."

The social worker cut in, "With this, we can adjust the temporary placement so you're her full legal guardian! Isn't that exciting?"

He nearly stumbled at that, but looked around at their faces and smiled. He was excited, really and truly he was, but it was for the house. The gift was unexpected, not something he had anticipated the White Pine Bay community offering him. As the resident tough guy, he had not considered that anyone might know or care about his struggles, but apparently lending aid to a sick girl had a way of bringing you into the spotlight.

He spoke haltingly and briefly to express his thanks, but Romero was never one for words. Emma said even less, clearly too overwhelmed, and then the thanks began. He watched the various community members stroke her hair and pinch her cheeks, annoyed on her behalf at their pitying looks and the way he was painted as a martyr just for letting her crash with him for a few months.

It was at that moment Romero realized that she would have to move in with him now rather than stay at the Bates place.

* * *

The next day, a generous member of the community (Liam Adamson, Emma thought his name was) showed up with his company's truck to move all their things out. Christine Heldens came to supervise but stubbornly treated Norma as if she were hardly there, only to be given some serious sass by Emma when it was implied that getting Norma away from the girl was what was best. Romero gently suggested that she had helped so much already, perhaps she should get lost. Sensing the friendship, Christine did the dignified thing and bowed out, leaving her number in case they needed anything else. When everything was packed, Emma lingered, promising to meet him over there with her car.

She was scared, he realized, and he could not blame her. She was moving away from the people she found comfort in, the only ones who supported her after her father's death, to live with some strange man she hardly knew. Hell, he thought, she still called him 'Sheriff Romero.' That did not exactly have the homiest feel to it. She was still wrapped up in Norma's arms with Norman hovering around his girls as Romero walked toward his cruiser, jerking his head for Dylan to follow. The boy did so.

"Listen, she's still gonna be able to come around here most of the time, right?" He asked. Dylan glared.

"Why, can't be bothered to have her around?" The older man met his gaze evenly.

"She's freaking out Dylan, terrified. She doesn't know me. I want her to feel safe, and she for some reason she gets that when she's with you and your family. Ignorance is bliss, I guess."

"Yeah… yeah, I know. I'll make sure she knows we're still looking out for her. She still works here, and I'm sure she'll still be finishing homework with Norman. And I'll stop in and check on her." Noting the expression on Romero's face, he added, "Occasionally… When you're not around."

Romero nodded. "Good." He said, in lieu of thanks, and dropped into his car and drove off. Dylan resisted the urge to flip him off as he watched the cruiser and truck kick up dust. He swaggered back to his family and nearly rolled his eyes at his mother's tears as she tucked Emma away into her car and waved her off.

"Relax, Norma. She's not dying, she's moving, like, what- not even 10 minutes away."

"I know that, Dylan," the woman snapped, "but still, it was nice having a daughter around for a little while… Alex will take good care of her, right?"

He wrapped an uncertain arm around her, "Yeah, he will. On the upside," he smirked at Norman, "you got your evil lair back."

The Norma(n) began bickering and berating him, but Dylan did not mind. When his family was annoyed at him, at least they weren't crying.

**End of Chapter**

* * *

R_S: So there you go. Seriously though, y'all- reviews please? I'd really appreciate feedback. The 3 darlings who have given me some are absolutely wonderful!

Have a happy day! =)


	5. A Dragon's Lair Called Home

R_S: This chapter is dedicated to **PixieDreamer21** for being awesome. Thanks for the review, darling! =)

* * *

**The Lies We Breathe**

**Chapter 5**

**A Dragon's Lair Called Home**

Settling into life together was awkward for Emma and Romero, and they spent most of their time avoiding each other. Luckily, that was a simple task. His bedroom was at the end of the hallway on the second floor, an upstairs that boasted a bonus room off the master bedroom, a master bathroom, a guest room with a bathroom, and linen closets, while her room was on the main floor, beneath the bonus room. In order to get between the two bedrooms, one had to walk down the hall, down the stairs, and then back down to the end of the hall again, past the living room, office, kitchen, powder room, and laundry room. The home did not boast an open floor plan, but that suited Romero just fine; he had never liked that look. Still, at times he worried about his ability to reach Emma in case of an emergency, now that she really was a daily concern for him.

Emma endeavored not to be, however. She spent most time in her room, though she sometimes did homework in the office or watched television in the den. Since he often worked late, it was not unusual for her to be in bed by the time he got home. Most of the girl's meals were still spent with the Bates family, and he told her to feel free to bring some of the food dropped off at the new house up there. It was far too much for just two people, especially two people who were hardly around.

Sometimes Romero felt as though he still lived alone, if not for a few tell-tale signs. She insisted on doing the laundry, and on rare occasions, he would find one of her tiny socks balled up in the pocket of his pants. Some sugary cereals he would never eat sat in his pantry, along with an abundance of tea. Oxygen tanks and a few other medical supplies took up a corner of the finished basement, and he would sometimes turn the television on to a channel he never even knew existed. Textbooks sat on the bookshelf in the office, and there were candles in a couple rooms. Sometimes there were extra dishes in the dishwasher, and very often when he came home, the house smelled of the fresh baked goods tucked into Tupperware containers. He had no idea why Emma was doing all that baking, but she always made sure to leave a tiny plate out for him. It was a very sweet gesture.

Yet, despite all these little things and the fact they obviously used all the same rooms and devices, the two hardly ran into each other. It was not until they had been staying there for nearly 2 weeks that they were forced to have any real interaction. That was the first night they would be sharing dinner. He asked how her schoolwork was going ("It's good, thanks."), while she asked about his work ("Been pretty quiet for once, thankfully."). They shared a bit of gossip they thought the other might be interested in, but it was not much. The pair sat awkwardly at the kitchen table, parked on opposite ends as they silently chewed some of the pot-roast a neighbor had kindly delivered.

"It's good," he commented idly, uncertain what else to say. For all his responsibilities as Emma's guardian, he had not spent a great deal of time with her. In fact, he could tell nearly nothing about her. He could read her just fine, like any good cop could read a teenage girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, but there was no personal knowledge.

"Yeah… I'll bake some muffins or something to send her, I guess. It was Mrs. Schmidt, right?"

"I'm not sure, I think so… that'd be sweet of you."

"It's gonna take a lot of baking with everyone who showed up these past couple weeks… so many people donated and fed us, I'm going to be making muffins and cookies and cupcakes and whatever for the next 3 months. I'm already getting sick of it." She quipped weakly. He stopped and looked at her seriously.

"You're really doing all that for them?"

Emma gave an awkward shrug. "Well yeah… I mean, they did a lot for us."

"They were treating you like-" He bit back angrily but cut himself off, simmering down. She gave him a weak smile.

"It's ok; I'm used to it. They mean well. It's just one of those annoying things you have to learn to live with… I'm sorry I brought all that with me. And I'm sorry you're stuck living with me- I know that wasn't your intention."

"My intention was to help you, and if living here does that, then it's not a problem."

"You don't have to pretend, Sheriff Romero," she said, "I know you felt sorry for me and just did this so I could stay with Norma. I appreciate it, really. That's why I feel bad it blew up in your face." With an almost angry look, Romero lowered his silverware and stared at her seriously.

"Emma," he said, "I don't pity you. Those people who keep showing up are assholes. This house isn't a reward for me; it's something the selfish bottom-feeders of this town put together to make themselves feel better. This one grand gesture for a sick young girl makes them feel big, powerful. Don't think I don't know that, Emma. And seriously, screw them. Screw Christine Heldens and the way she dusts off the people she thinks are below her to make herself look good. Screw Mrs. Schmidt, who thinks making you whatever was on sale at the supermarket this week makes her a good person. And screw every damn jerk-off who's using this to make himself look better or feel better. It's bullshit, kid, and I know that. I'm like you; just smiling and nodding so they think they get away with it. I just don't know if they deserve encouragement."

"Well, I guess it just makes me feel better, less likely a charity case." He nodded and agreed that he could understand that. They ate the rest of the dinner in silence, not speaking again until they loaded the dishwasher in tandem, and even then it was only polite 'thank you's and 'excuse me's. She retired to her room almost immediately thereafter, wishing him a good night.

Dinner had been rather unfulfilling, he thought while flipping through some papers and bills in the office, and damn having a kid was expensive… even with aid from the state, it was costing him a little bit out of pocket. Then again, he was not sure how much of that was Emma and how much was the CF. Romero always made a point to gather the bills away from her eyes; he did not want her to feel guilty about the money her illness might cost him. It was not fair to hold that against her when none of it was her doing, and anyway, he had been saving for so long while living on his own that it would not really affect him. But damn it all if he did not need a drink. His feet carried him out to the kitchen, but then he changed his mind, thoughts lingering on the girl down the hall. Maybe some mindless TV would get his mind off things. He hoped his little lecture did not make her uncomfortable. Probably not; ninety percent of their interactions were him lecturing her on some safety thing or another. She was probably used to it, listening as dutifully as ever.

His eyes fell to the couch and the book laying on it, placed face down to hold the place. Emma had been reading it when he got home, he remembered. He picked it up carefully, using his thumb to hold the place, and read the synopsis. It was some dystopian young adult novel. The blurb on the back was difficult to follow, but from what he gathered from the synopsis and the excerpt on the first page: boys were trained militaristically while girls were sold as property at 16, but the main character was sick with some weird virus that was infecting them all, so she needed to heal herself and her little brother all while dealing with three boys (2 possible love interests, 1 evil jerk) bidding on her. It was weird. Kids read weird stuff these days. But then while carelessly flipping through a quote caught his eye, something about the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness and the need to fight when you felt like you were out of air to breathe. It was needlessly melodramatic, but still he rescinded that previous thought. Maybe that was how Emma was feeling. Maybe this, life with him, was her dystopian survival. He had not exactly made it easy.

In that moment, he decided to make just a little bit of an effort, starting by returning the book and learning more about her. Gripping it tightly in hand, he strode purposefully down the hall, only pause at the end, suddenly questioning his plan. Romero stood awkwardly at her door, which was only half closed, for a moment. It seemed to stare back at him, mocking, and he scowled. He wrapped softly on the door.

"Emma?" he called.

"Come on in." He heard her voice, garbled by the sound of a toothbrush, and walked into the room. The girl poked her head out of her bathroom (a local plumber had offered his services for free, so the money that would have been used to pay him went into making the house a 3.5 bath, as though he needed all that).

"Is everything ok?" Her big eyes blinked at him, utterly innocent and unconcerned by his presence. He remembered walking in on her at her father's house and resisted the urge to scowl and lecture her on safety. There were bad men in this world, and she should never feel comfortable having a stranger in her bedroom. It did not seem to be the time for lectures, though, and he filed the thought away. Maybe it was just that she was so used to living with men, especially men who could protect her (Massett, for all his shortcomings, fell into that category… still, maybe he should have worried more about her living in a house with 2 men who both had run-ins with the law and no lock on her bedroom).

Instead of voicing any of his thought process, he simply said, "Yeah, you just left your book on the couch… thought you might want it."

"Oh, ok, thanks. You can put it wherever." Romero sat down on the bed and placed it beside him, taking an opportunity to inspect the area. He had seen it in passing during the move in, but he made an active effort to respect the girl's privacy, so this was his first good look since they had gotten settled and unpacked. It was very… girly, obviously not something she would have picked for herself. The carpet was blue, the walls a light lilac, and her furniture and décor was mostly white and pink. She had tried to cover a lot of it with stuff from her old life but had not complained, something he was noticing was typical of her character. She tried to fix what she could but did not waste breath on what she could not. Maybe it was because air was such a precious resource to her that she held her tongue, but whatever the reason, as much as she was a silly little girl in so many ways, she was not in others.

She padded out of the bathroom, finished. "Was there something you needed?"

"No, I just… I guess I wanted to see how you were holding up, adjusting to everything." She gave him the kind smile, the one he was starting to realize was an immediate response rather than a genuine expression.

"I'm fine. Your new house is really nice; I feel bad that they designed it around me."

He shook his head, "Don't. It wouldn't exist without you, remember?" She actually giggled at that, and though it was not a big sound, he liked it. She sat down across from him on her desk chair, and he mentally commended her and added a note to the lecture he would have to give her at some point; smart move not sitting next to a strange man on the bed. Tomorrow, he decided, he would get her a can of pepper spray and maybe some other safety devices. He would have to find out how capable she was of self-defense too… maybe if he convinced Norma to take the classes with her she would not feel so patronized. It would serve the matriarch well, too, given the Keith Summers rape.

His eyes continued to drift around the room, and she noticed. "Well, that aside, I still feel bad you have a room this effeminate in your house… it's pretty ridiculous for a big, bad cop." He laughed a little at that and waved her off.

"Eh, if I'd ever had a wife and kids I'd be dealing with the same things." She continued to smile but said nothing. She wanted to ask, he knew, about his bachelor life; did he not want to settle down, had something happened, was it just not in the cards? Everyone wanted to know that. She was too sweet to ask, not like how she shot her mouth off without thinking around the Bates family. He had seen it at meals while they were staying over there, her complete feelings of ease in that environment. The air was thick and nervous here. Silence continued as his eyes fell on a box beside her bed, a long hose and oxygen mask stretching onto the pillow.

"So, uh, what is that?" He could have winced at his own tactlessness, but she did not seem to notice.

"It's my BiPAP. It helps me breathe when I sleep sometimes, keeps the mucus in my lungs from building up and suffocating me. I'm supposed to use it every night, but I don't, just when it gets really bad… I don't like the way it takes away control of my breathing. Makes me feel like, I dunno, powerless or something. And it's super uncomfortable."

Romero frowned, "Emma, I'd really like it to use it while you're staying here."

"Yeah, no totally; I have been since I moved in here. I know you're doing me a solid, and I don't want you getting in trouble for something that's not even your fault."

"Thank you for that… I'm sorry you don't like it." He offered by way of meager concession. She just shrugged good-naturedly.

"Eh, it's not so bad. When I was a little girl, right after my mom died, I would listen to the sound it made and pretend it was my pet dragon, that it loved me so much it matched its breathing to my own. Made me feel less alone…" she let out a bitter, embarrassed sound not unlike a laugh. "Pretty stupid, huh? Sorry, I don't know why I unloaded that on you-"

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Emma. Your whole life… it's been uprooted and changed, and there's been no time for you to adjust. Losing your father after your mother, I'm sure that was a lot to take, and it doesn't seem like anyone's given you a chance to grieve yet." She smiled sadly but with warmth. He was wiser than she had once thought, not the illusion of machismo he presented.

"Thanks. I'm alright; friends like the Bates help."

"And you've talked to them about this?" He asked with genuine concern.

"Mostly Dylan. He's been really great with all this… I don't know what I'd have done without him."

"Dylan Massett… he checks on you often?" She seemed to buy his feigned indifference, as though he was not keeping tabs on known leaders of criminal groups.

"Yeah, I see him at work and when I have dinner with him and Norma and Norman. And sometimes when I don't go over there for dinner and you're not home, he swings by to check in or pick up some of the extra food I give them so it won't go bad. It's annoying sometimes, but I like the company."

"Norman doesn't ever come?"

Emma shrugged, "He comes with Dylan sometimes, but he doesn't have a license."

"Funny, I thought you two were closer than that."

"We are; we spend most of school and after school together. But later he likes to work on his taxidermy; my dad was teaching him." The last part was added in an almost wistful, far away comment.

"Taxidermy?"

"Yeah, it's actually kinda cool. My dad taught me some too, but it wasn't really my thing. Norman really likes it, though, even if Norma doesn't. Sometimes he would work on it at night in the basement, and I could hear him while I lied in bed and pretend it was my dad… that was nice."

It was refreshing to get all that out, tell something to someone. Her father used to be her confidant and main conversation partner. Dylan and Norman and Norma tried to fulfill that role for her, but it was not the same. It was nice to have a fatherly figure ask after her and show some concern, even if it was not Will. Romero made an effort to listen, nodding his head dutifully and inserting protective advice here and there (she could tell he had some thoughts about her being in bed with Norman nearby but thankfully withheld whatever lecture he wished to impart). She had always been thankful for his newfound role in her life, but for the first time, Emma found herself truly glad that it was Alex Romero of all people.

He left not long after, but those little talks quickly became a regular occurrence. The house felt less like an awkward communal lounging a college dorm and more like a home. She knew she wasn't perfect, but Emma liked to think that she made a half-way decent daughter and now ward, health complications aside. Still, Sheriff Romero was not one easily won over, which is what made it so rewarding when she earned the right to call him Alex. Not everyone got that privilege. It was a sign of closeness, one which she likewise embraced. No one could ever replace William, but if she had to pick a new substitute father, Emma was starting to think there couldn't be one better.

**End of Chapter**

* * *

R_S: So some of you might have noticed that I borrowed a little from TFiOS, and that's going to happen again in a later chapter. I know nothing about CF, so I just try to put together something halfway believable. Let me know what you think, please!


	6. Empty Edges

R_S: So this chappy was also heavily influenced by the book version of TFiOS, as I mentioned in last chapter. Given my very limited experience with this topic, I felt it best to take not of how good authors deal with it and build around that.

* * *

**The Lies We Breathe**

**Chapter 6**

**Empty Edges**

It was the screams that woke him, sharp and tortured. Romero leapt from his bed, fumbling desperately for his gun. Emma was screaming. She must have been in trouble. She needed him. He made his way quickly yet carefully through the small house, checking around corners with expert precision, but as he neared, he realized there was no intruder. The screams were something else entirely. He burst into her room to find her sharp cries piercing the air and flipped on the light. She shut her eyes in response, clearly agonized by the sharp beams. She sat up with hands on each side of her head, screaming with some difficulty through the BiPAP. Hysterical tears rushed down her face. Romero did not think he had ever seen any creature suffer so exquisitely before.

He stood for a moment, panicked and uncertain what to do. She was in too much pain to tell him, just pulling on fistfuls of her thick hair and sobbing. He made a judgment call and tossed the gun onto her bedside table. He ripped the BiPAP from her head, accidentally catching her hair in the process, but she did not seem to notice, already in far too much pain. He gathered the girl against his chest without another moment, mindful of how little she felt in his arms. He ran her out and reached the front door before he realized there were some items necessary to leave the house. He placed her carefully on the stairs, her desperate screams reverberating against the hallway walls, and left her side only to gather keys. His phone and wallet lay beside them, so he grabbed those too and scooped her back up, running from the house.

The drive to the hospital seemed endless, despite his speeding. He set his lights ablaze, despite the pain it clearly caused her, but it was necessary when time was of the essence. In the rearview mirror, Romero watched her eyes fluttered painfully as her head lolled on the backseat. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, oscillating between the cacophony of suffering and pathetic whimpers. He pushed the gas pedal harder. Being sheriff had its benefits; he pulled into a spot right at the entrance of the ER, one that could only be used for official purposes. He figured this counted. Emma in his arms, he burst into the waiting room, and the harsh florescent lights caused her to cry out again, loud as ever. The town sheriff exploding into a hospital with a screaming girl had a way of grabbing people's attention, and he was hardly done calling for help when she was plucked from his arms and whisked away, leaving him standing there alone.

All at once, gravity set in. The world seemed to be spinning around him, and he groped desperately for reality. He whipped out his phone and called the only person he thought might understand, one he knew would care. But Norma did not pick up. He hesitated for only a split-second before he tried a second number.

"Hello?" He knew Dylan would be awake; there was some kind of cross meeting earlier that night, and he probably was dealing with an in-house discussion about the repercussions.

"It's Emma," Romero said in lieu of a greeting, "she's in the hospital. I don't know what's wrong. Your mother didn't pick up-"

"On my way." And he hung up. For a moment, Romero had to snort at the ridiculousness of the situation- the town Sherriff calling a drug lord he could barely stand and his highly suspicious family for support. What were the damn chances? He sat alone waiting for an oppressively long time. Some kind soul brought him coffee, but it tasted like motor oil. No one seemed in any hurry to tell him what was wrong with the girl.

Dylan's appearance was sudden, an aggressive stance in front of him. "I sent one of my guys to pick up Norman and my mom," he said, "I don't think she should be driving on this news. Did they say what was wrong?" Romero shook his head.

"They haven't." The boy cursed beneath his breath and checked his watch.

"Well it's been long enough that we can start being damn annoying. I'll ask up at the front desk." That would yield no results, but the men still took turns bothering workers regularly. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, they figured, and Emma should have been getting the best treatment available, even if it was just to shut them up. Romero felt himself getting number and more worried as the time passed. Dylan grew increasingly agitated. He kept ignoring calls, presumably from work, but the caller was persistent. Finally, he broke down and answered harshly.

"_What_?" He snapped in loud anger. The receptionist ah-hemmed and pointed to a sign about cell phone usage, so he slipped outside with an annoyed but apologetic expression- the device could conceivably mess with whatever they were using on Emma, after all. So Romero returned to his lonesome seating, too worn-out to pace. He noticed he was still in a white t-shirt and pajama pants and almost laughed. He should call out of work soon, he realized. There was no way he was going in during all this. He stood and stared at his phone. He would wait, he decided, until Dylan came back. Somebody needed to wait for news.

"Excuse me, are you Alexander Romero?" A voice asked, and numbly, he turned to the questioning doctor in affirmation. He was an older, genial looking man with laugh lines around his twinkling blue eyes. His name was Doctor Adam Richardson, he explained, but most called him Dr. Adam. He specialized in child and adolescent care and had been in charge of Emma's case since she was young. It was a pleasure to meet him, he said, though a shame it was under such poor circumstances. It took a generous man to look after Emma so selflessly following her loss.

"But what's wrong with her?" Romero asked, brushing aside the compliments. He had read all about Cystic Fibrosis and its symptoms, he insisted, and he never found anything about the kind of suffering pain she seemed to be experiencing. Dr. Adam had a calming manner about him that assuaged his concern immediately. He had come straight to the hospital, called in specifically for Emma's case, and he was taking care of her. There was a build-up of mucus in her lungs, he said, a lack of oxygenation brought on by infection. They had drained accumulation, and she was resting, moved to the ICU. It would be a while until she woke up, he warned Romero, but he was welcome to wait. Or they could call him when she awoke.

He was going to stay, Romero decided, and he knew the Norma would want to as well. Dr. Adam was clearly going home, obviously exhausted and called in off his shift for the emergency, so he wanted to make sure that the nurses saw him there and knew to let him know as soon as she was awake. When Dylan returned from the call, he looked annoyed but clearly intended to hunker down as well. Soon the four of them had all taken up a corner of the waiting room, fretting and shifting uncomfortably. Norman had to forcibly restrain his mother form asking after her every fifteen minutes and went on multiple coffee runs. The whole scene was oddly domestic, though not in a good way.

It was a full day before Emma woke at all and another half day before she successfully maintained any consciousness. The girl's exhaustion was palpable, and the nurses said it was surprising she was awake and lucid so soon. A fighter, they called her. She seemed determined to expedite the healing process, and instead of being locked away from them in the ICU, she somehow got access to a full private room to help that along (Romero suspected Dylan had greased someone's palms, but he did not look into the small blessing). Deputy Lin was in charge in his absence, which seemed like giving a kid the keys to a candy store, but there was little choice in the matter. Anyway, that was not his main concern at the moment. His focus was on the sweet-faced but tired girl on the bed. Her skin was pale and dark circles hung heavy below her sunken eyes. She spent most of her time either chewing on ice-chips or dozing, sometimes drifting away mid-conversation. Still, despite her trauma, she seemed determined to play polite hostess to the Bates family taking time out to visit her. The three took turns heading back to the motel to take care of things and bring back whatever supplies were needed (clothes for Romero or the others, food, coffee), and Norman even hunted down Emma's favorite stuffed bear, Mr. Bun-Bun, which had fallen under the bed in the scuffle go get her out of the house.

Dylan teased her mercilessly over the worn creature, which had clearly once been fluffy but was now a little mangy from years of love. She called him 'Bunny' for short, and he wanted to know why she named the bear after a different animal. He insisted she must have been slow as a child, but she called it being whimsical and open to the bear's potential to be whatever it wanted. In response, he just tweaked her nose. The laughter seemed to make her much better, and she healed more quickly with the love of the family. The nurses often teased that she did not need them, not when she had such handsome nurses of her own, and winked teasingly at Norman, Dylan, and Romero. Emma was a lucky girl, they said.

It had been only a couple days when she was well enough to have what was essentially the discharge conversation. She was sitting up, looking more awake than ever, and snacking on a Jell-O cup. Dylan was picking at some part of her lunch that she did not want, while Norma finished up a call with Norman, who was watching the motel. Dr. Adam stepped into the room with his usual pleasant smile and nodded to the inhabitants.

"Hello Emma. How are we feeling today?" He asked, brushing back her hair, and she gave him her usual Sunday-girl sweet smile.

"Much better, Dr. Adam, thank you. How are you?" He laughed good naturedly at that.

"I'm quite well, Emma, thank you. So, let's talk about what happened with this whole mess, hmm?"

At this point, Norma cut in. "I thought it was the accumulation in her lungs. Was it something else? Is there a problem?" The fervency of the questioning seemed to take Dr. Adam off guard, but he regained his sense of grace quickly.

"Ah, you must be the Bates family; Emma has spoken highly of you. It's very kind of you to come and support her. But I do need permission to speak about confidential medical issues in the presence of non-family members, Sherriff Romero…"

He nodded, "Yeah it's, uh, fine to talk about it in front of Norma and Dylan… Norman too, I guess, if he's ever around." Dr. Adam glanced at Emma, and she smiled and nodded.

"It's ok; I don't mind." That replenished the man's easy smile.

"Well, the pain in your head was the result of poor oxygenation, something I know you're fairly familiar with. There was a bacterial infection that caused a build-up of mucus that had gotten rather extreme- I'm surprised it took this long for you to feel it. It likely built up in sleep, judging by the way it accumulated on the back of your lungs-"

"How is that possible?" Romero cut in, "She uses her BiPAP every night. Isn't that supposed to help prevent this?" He got the gist of what happened the other night, but there was still so much unexplained that he did not understand.

"That's good; I know she isn't fond of it. The body is a funny machine, Sherriff. This has been a very stressful time for Emma, and it can cause a lot of adverse effects that manifest physically. But Emma, the pain you experienced, though extreme, was a blessing in disguise. We ran some tests on your pancreas, just to be safe, and found that they haven't been working as well as they should have been. We caught it nice and early, so treatment was simple. We are going to have to adjust your meds, though, to account for these difficulties." He clicked his pen and began jotting on his clipboard, throwing out fancy sounding names like Pulmozyme and Azythromycin. She was getting something called hypertonic saline, but Emma was the only one who seemed to know what that meant. Later a nurse was going to come in and teach them some airway clearing techniques (ACTs, had they called them?) that he could help Emma with in case of difficulty breathing. There were many she could do on her own, but more intense ones required aid. At one point he mentioned told her she was still "testing negative for B. cepacia." They did not know what that was, but Emma seemed noticeably relieved, so it must have been bad. Romero resisted the urge to sit down, feeling as though he was drowning, and Norma's constant questions only added to the pounding in his head.

Dr. Adam handled it all calmly and, if anything, seemed pleased by the group's interest in her well-being. "Now, as for when you can go home. She probably could today, but if it's alright, Sherriff, we'd like to keep her an extra night for observation."

"Yes," he said quickly, "whatever's best."

"Excellent. I've also written down a brief guide to nutrition for CF patients for you." He handed him a paper, "Now Emma, you need to make sure you're eating well. We're tube-feeding you right now in addition to your meals, but you need to make sure you maintain a high caloric intake when you leave- especially with the new medication adjustments. Lots of protein, lots of antioxidants… I know the antibiotics can make your stomach uneasy, but you've got to eat anyway."

"We'll keep an eye on it." Dylan cut in suddenly, making the first comment since his observation. The kid was smart, Romero noted for not the first time. He might not have known about all the medical jargon being thrown around, but he knew to keep his mouth shut and listen, gather all the information. He had a good head on his shoulders, for a criminal. And there was a little extra sparkle in Dr. Adam's eye as he looked that the blond boy.

"That's good to hear. I get the feeling your family will be stuffing her like a thanksgiving turkey," he quipped, winking at Norma. The woman laughed and nodded.

"I already do." She admitted, waving a hand.

The doctor laughed, "Well then, we're all set. The nurse will be here shortly to go over a few other details. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask our staff. Enjoy the rest of your day. Feel better, Emma."

"Thank you, Dr. Adam." At the girl's words, the man made his way out, but something in his gaze made Romero follow him. Norma had already gone back to hovering around the girl and fiddling with her hair and blankets, fluffing her pillows. Dr. Adam was waiting just aside the window to Emma's room, though they could not see due to the drawn shades.

"So… she really is alright? There's nothing else to worry about?" Romero tried to keep his voice gruff and aloof, but it was obvious he had a soft-spot for his ward.

"Yes, she's going to be fine. I just wanted to address your concerns in private and let you know that, yes CF can be overwhelming, but Emma is a very stable case. She is very much in control of herself and her wellbeing. There should be little for you to worry about. And honestly, it seems to me you're doing a very good job, especially for having been just thrown into all this.

"I also wanted to give you this, away from all the others." Dr. Adam held out a business card. "Your friend is lovely, but she's obviously a worrier. Somehow I don't think Emma would like Norma being able to call about her at any time." His quip earned a soft laugh and a nod, followed by words of gratitude. The men parted ways amicably, and Romero tucked the card into his wallet before turning back into the room. Norma was playing with her hair, and Emma was smiling at Dylan as he told her some ridiculous story to make her laugh.

The next day, Norma brought Emma a fresh set of clothes (there was no way Romero was picking that out), and the various tubes sticking out of her were carefully removed. She showered quickly and dressed, looking tired but bright. Norman helped Romero get her to the car and sent a text to update Dylan that she would be resting at home from then on.

That night, the local sheriff got a call from the biggest criminal in town. Dylan wanted to know if Emma's medical bills were paid for by the state. Whatever wasn't taken care of, whatever counted as the best treatment available, he had it covered. They were good for now, but Romero would be damned if he wasn't grateful there was someone else looking out for the girl's health. He was less pleased that he would likely be seeing a known criminal pretty soon.

**End of Chapter**

* * *

R_S: There ya go! Please leave a review so I'll want to update soon =)


	7. The Sea After a Storm

R_S: I think you guys are gonna like this chapter- lots of Dylemma!

It is totally dedicated to **DBT the Awesome**, my newest reviewer, who left such a review I just about teared up. You go, Glenn Coco! This is for you =) And another special thanks to **PixieDreamer21**, who never fails to review a chappy. You're gonna like this one, I promise!

* * *

**The Lies We Breathe**

**Chapter 7**

**The Sea After a Storm**

For Emma, the healing process was nothing out of the ordinary. She continuously assured Norma over her fretting that she was used to this. And, admittedly, she was. A little attack like that one was not unheard of in the CF community, and she had experienced a couple in years prior. If anything, given the stress of her life, she was surprised it took this long. Then again, she really should have gone to see Dr. Adam after the river incident; she was just too proud. Usually causing everyone distress due to her own weakness was an enormous source of guilt for the girl. For once, though, it was nice to have people worrying about her.

For his part, Romero was careful not to act like a fretting mother hen. He was a grown man; that was not in his nature, and he would be damned to hell before doing something so undignified. Except that he seemed to hover around her more and more often, seeming annoyed with his people on nights he had to work late. He actively kept the recommended food from Dr. Adam's list around the house, not-so-subtly strategically placed so Emma would see it and hopefully decide to have some. Even some of his officers were in on the action, finding odds and ends to send home under the guise of being for him. Being detectives, they were quick to catch on to the shift in his care for the girl. At times, they teased him about it. She generously did not call him out on his newfound investment. It hardly altered their interactions anyway; despite this desire to be more involved with her life, he was still Sheriff of White Pine Bay, and his schedule did not allow for him to be home with her often.

Unbeknownst to him, however, Dylan Masset had taken it upon himself to watch over her on some long, boring days.

The young pair had quickly developed a schedule. Emma would wake and make herself a cup of tea and a healthy breakfast, or as much of one as she could stomach. After that, she would work on homework and assignments Norman dropped off from school for a while, until she got tired. That was the time for lunch and an afternoon nap. When she woke up again, she would putter around the house and put the kettle on while she did more work or read for pleasure. Sometimes she would hardly get settled before Dylan knocked on the door. Others she would grow antsy waiting for him. Regardless, his presence was always a welcome distraction from the monotonous fatigue that had become her life.

He always greeted her the same way: "Sup, kid/shortstack/princess/insert-kitschy-nickname-here (but _never_ 'cupcake')," and she always beamed up at him with that smile- the real one, not the one she plastered on when the neighbors came by or she was out in public. It was wide and toothy and made her look almost like a little girl, and knowing he could make her that happy with just his presence was an uplifting feeling, one that brought him back over and over.

He would get settled on the couch, and despite her recuperation, Emma would _insist_ on getting them some tea and maybe a snack. Sometimes it was typical British tea-time fare, scones and other such finery that would make Dylan tease her mercilessly but still abandon his machismo bad-boy façade to enjoy- despite being dainty, the goods were always quite delicious. Other times she would delve into the junk food she so carefully hid from Romero (eating such nonsense was not good for her health, don't you know). He would always grab it from her hands and remind her she wasn't supposed to eat it.

"I'll just have to finish it all myself- for your own good."

She laughed and nodded in mock seriousness, "Oh, of course; you'll make the sacrifice." And after that he would say something in agreement, but she could never make it out through his full mouth.

Their days were spent laughing and talking genially, not unlike the nights spent in the basement of the Bates manor. He kept her abreast of the goings on in town, and Emma… she kept him sane, he thought. Genuinely, Dylan liked being in her presence. He got to be him, a kid his own age, without having to hide the truth about his life and his job.

He did stop keeping his gun on him when in the house, though. It happened one evening when they were goofing off on the couch, playfully fighting over the last cookie.

"Dylan, I need it to _heal_. I'm very sick, you know." She had said to him, reaching in vain across his arm span.

"Oh yeah," he laughed, "it's just what the doctor ordered. I'm the guest, Emma, I always get first dibs. I thought the British were known for their manners!"

"Well I-" She was in the middle of a rebuttal when her wrist collided with something hard at his side, and she pulled back, crying out and clutching the offending appendage. It had not hurt that much, merely shocked her, but he turned to her in an instant, dropping the cookie forgotten on the plate.

"Em! Are you ok?"

She nodded, "Yeah, sorry, I'm fine. I just hit myself on your…" she trailed off, and her eyes fell to the firearm at his side. She cocked her head like a curious puppy, bits of curls sticking out from her messy ponytail almost like dog ears.

"Is that your gun?" She asked, and he nodded, watching her carefully. He wondered if that was it, the moment when she would see him as a monster and push him out of her life. She licked her lips.

"Do you always have it on you?"

Another nod. "Yeah."

"… Can I see it?" He hesitated at the question but removed the firearm, holding it carefully so she could see. A tiny, delicate hand reached out toward it, and he pulled back slightly.

"You've gotta be careful," he told her, "guns are-"

"I know," she cut him off with a slightly annoyed look, "I live with a cop, I get it. I'm not stupid." He scooted closer to her, sitting with their sides pressed together as he showed her the parts and how to best hold it. She asked him about how often he needed to use it, and he avoided the question by telling her about teaching his mother how to shoot.

"Is it ever weird," she asked him, "being in charge of all… that? Carrying a gun around and dealing with so much… doesn't it ever feel like you're just playing pretend? I feel that way all the time, and I'm just a student with a part-time job."

To his surprise, he answered her without thinking. "All the time." She looked equally shocked by his sudden candidness.

"Really?"

"Yeah. When I first got my piece, I was so excited I practiced looking tough in the mirror… But I'll deny that if you ever tell _anybody_." She laughed.

"My lips are sealed. But yeah, I guess I could see how that kind of thing might go straight to your head. Holding it probably feels… powerful."

"Romero's not teaching you to shoot?" He asked. It seemed like something the guy would do, given the stockpile of pepper sprays, whistles, and other anti-rape devices she had accrued since moving in with him. The man had even talked Norma into taking a basic defense class so that Emma could go with her, but the girl had seen through the ruse almost immediately and made her excuses to bow out. Fighting, she had explained to them, was not an oxygen tank friendly activity.

"No… he doesn't really want me around guns. I don't really want to anyway; they make me kinda nervous." At that, he tucked the gun back in and looked at her seriously.

"They should." She nodded, but before she could say more, he grabbed the cookie and popped it in his mouth.

"I win." He said. Or she thought he did, it was hard to make out as he sprayed her with crumbs. She made a grossed-out sound and smacked his arm, and the play-fighting recommenced. After that day, though, his gun remained stashed safely in the glove compartment of his truck. He would not need it anyway, he rationalized- the only dumb fuck crazy enough to attack a cop's house was already dead. And he liked the happiness that came from Emma's sunshine smile too much to jeopardize it with a silly firearm.

So, they spent their days gun-less, continuing to watch movies and crappy television as she readied to go back to school. She was itching to get out of the house, he could tell, but not to return to White Pine Bay High School. She was really far more mature than her classmates; even Dylan could see that, though there was still a youthfulness to her. If someone had told her when they first met that she was a college student, he would probably have believed them. Following the death of her father, the concept was even more believable. Gone was immaturity. What was left was whimsy and playfulness that punctuated the aura of loss around her.

She was poignantly beautiful.

He realized it one day while watching _The Princess Bride_. She was staring intently at the screen, mouthing along with the dialogue, and he watched her with a smile. Her eyes were so big he thought maybe he could watch the movie just in their reflection. And though she sometimes put on make-up and neater clothes to hang out in, he never felt like she was trying too hard. He found himself staring at her and turned his attention back to the screen, trying to catch what he had missed while admiring the lovely girl beside him. He had just about caught up on plot when he caught a pillow to the face.

That was how Emma handled it when she found herself staring too long at his striking profile, the one that still had a boyish softness, or thinking too long about the blueness of his eyes. They were not like the sea after a storm, she decided, like the movie said. They were just… nice. She had no deeper adjective for them. She was no poet or writer. Being close to death did not make you suddenly capable of viewing the world in romantic allegory, as so many books and movies would lead you to believe. But she had begun to view Dylan Masset as a heroic romantic figure, and she needed to apply the brakes.

The way she handled her crush on Norman was disastrously pathetic, Emma could see that once the haze of puppy love lifted. She was childish and, to be frank, a little creepy about it. She could not handle her feelings for Dylan the same way. More than that, she did not think she could handle feelings for him at all. She might have been an only child, but she still knew that being the second pick sibling sucked. Switching from pursuing one brother to another was just plain weird, yet again creepy. She did not want to be creepy; she had a hard enough time connecting with people as it was. And while Norman was the kind of guy who could stay friends with a girl that liked him, Emma knew from the experience with Bradley that Dylan was not.

She could not handle being kept at arm's length from him, not after everything. So when the feelings crept up, she stuffed them down with a pillow attack or dorky joke. Whatever it took to keep him from noticing the way her heart sped up in his presence. She pushed it aside and focused on the television and their laughter.

And there was plenty of laughter, often at her expense. He would poke her and prod her, sometimes tricking her into saying something ridiculous. Other times they would make ridiculous bets, ones Dylan always seemed to win, that would leave her with embarrassingly silly consequences. He would give her a throaty laugh and threaten to post her humiliation for the internet to see. Emma always gave him the same comeback:

"I've watched Norma wipe food from your face like a child, Massett, don't test me."

"Hey, I told you- I didn't see her coming. That was one time!"

Other times, he would suddenly begin comparing her to characters in movies or shows, picking out their embarrassing flaws just to mention she had them as well. Or he would repeat the male's lines with false sincerity, staring her down dramatically. One of his favorite games was to cover her eyes whenever an even vaguely suggestive scene came on. He would slap his hands onto her face, yelling about how inappropriate it was and dodging her blind swings to get him off. It had the added bonus of allowing him to touch her a little extra. The only thing he enjoyed more was making her sit through the most ridiculous programs possible. He would insist it was untapped genius, whether he liked it or not, and she would play right back at him, pressed against him in an attempt to reach the remote.

It was in the midst of one of these moments that Romero discovered the depth of their friendship and Massett's presence in his home. His cruiser was in the shop for the day, so one of his officers was dropping him off for the night while another was to pick him up in the morning. Immediately he noticed the familiar truck parked beside his driveway and frowned. The man made his way into the house carefully, going around back in case of danger. He scouted lights in the windows and found only the kitchen and living room to be on, meaning that he was likely in Emma's company. He slipped in the back and moved quietly toward the living room with the grace of a jungle cat, stopping outside the doorway to remain unseen.

Dylan and Emma's voices bounced off the walls of the hall along with the sounds of their movement.

"No," she moaned, "turn it off! Why are you torturing me?"

He laughed, holding the remote out of her reach, "I'm sorry, I think you mean generously _blessing_ you with the honor of watching Man vs Bear: Ultimate Antarctic Edition." He made his voice sound more dramatic for the title, as though he was an announcer. Romero could hear her snort of derision and what he thought was the sound of her smacking him in the face with a pillow. What followed were sounds of mock agony, and the older man smirked. The kid was a moron. That was the face of the greatest drug ring in the local area. Honestly, sometimes he felt like the worst cop ever for letting that guy get away, he considered while holstering his gun.

"Oh spare me the melodrama, Massett… is there any popcorn left?" She asked, but the questioned finished with a yawn.

"No, I definitely ate that."

"Well how dare you."

"I know, I know; I'm a scoundrel."

"Of the worst kind," she agreed, "and as such I can no longer regard you as anything more than a fiendish cad. You are hereby banished until you return with replacement. I will accept kettle corn as well, for the record."

"Ha, very generous of you. Well, I better go anyway; Romero will be home soon, and you know how the old man feels about me." Her full, bow lips pulled down into a frown.

"I really wish you wouldn't talk about him in that tone. He puts up a rough front, but he's been so kind. He's opened his home to me and taken really good care of me… I owe him a lot." Dylan did not meet her gaze.

"Yeah, but he's still a pain in my ass." He quipped and stood to gather his things. As he did so, he spoke blandly of coming to see her and how the new Marvel movie sounded good, so maybe they should drag Norman to go see it. When he received no response, he glanced down to find her napping on the couch, cannula slightly askew. He knelt down gently to adjust it and covered her with a blanket, brushing an errant strand of hair from her face. Their time together often wore her out, with his poking and pulling things away from her. It was the only time he felt his age, and she seemed to enjoy the way he did not pussyfoot around her sickness. With that thought, he smiled and wished her sweet dreams below his breathe before slipping out. Romero watched the entire interaction silently, still tucked away in the corner of the hall.

**End of Chapter**

* * *

R_S: Oooh, what's Romero gonna do? Fyi, spent a long time deliberating on the answer to that question- couldn't make him too OOC, after all. Hopefully you'll approve of the direction I went in the next chapter. Leave a review _pleeeaaase_!


End file.
